Canyon
by fyngardd
Summary: He'd warned her and she hadn't listened.  And just as he'd warned, she jumped into trouble without thinking of the consequences, and he followed.
1. Chapter 1

_Note:_

_I've only ever read other people's stories, never written any of my own. However, perhaps because there are so few others, I find myself having written a story about Chase. I'm a little shy about having written a story at all, let alone the impulse to share it with _the whole Internet.

_It is complete already, having been written, at first, entirely for my own entertainment. I'll post the prologue and first chapter today and then the rest every few days: with so few stories about, we may as well make the ones we have last a while. I hope you enjoy it._

_This story was read in advance by a friend whom I will let remain anonymous in case she prefers it that way, and is much improved in consequence of her efforts. So: Thank you very much, Friend._

_I am required, I think, to make some kind of intellectual property disclaimer: All the characters herein, save one, are creations of people more imaginative than I, and the property of NBC._

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

He'd warned her and she hadn't listened. He'd warned her and she hadn't listened. She felt sick; blood roaring in her ears and stomach churning. _He'd warned her and she hadn't listened._

He'd shouted a warning when she ran for Duggan while the fugitive reloaded, but he'd still backed her up. He had tried to make her understand that if he were hurt, Marco would come for them, and then Daisy, and then Luke, and that her own risk-taking put everyone at risk. She'd dismissed him. They had all volunteered for the team, she had said, they could leave if they weren't prepared to do what needed to be done to catch the bad guys.

When he'd stopped her jumping from the balcony, when he'd confronted her about her father, well, she'd dismissed him then too. Even after the explosion at the farmer's market, she'd discounted his concern. He was looking out for her, she thought, in his old-fashioned cowboy-chivalrous way, and she didn't need it.

He'd warned her and she hadn't listened. And just as he'd warned, she'd jumped into trouble without thinking of the consequences, and he'd followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Previous Friday**

He'd tried to warn her not to take such heedless risks. He understood, as much as anyone understood, her intensity, her will to do the job right. He'd taken risks himself, took quiet pride in doing all he could to catch the bad guys. He'd kept quiet about a hundred jumps, a dozen firefights in which she'd left herself exposed to take a better shot. He'd said nothing when she dropped from the helicopter to the rig, knowing her need to do everything she could to save that little girl. But the risks she took had escalated, and when he'd felt she was out of control, risking her own life and jeopardizing the junior members of the team, he'd felt bound to intervene.

It hadn't gone well, and he would wonder later if he hadn't done more harm than good making her acknowledge that her father was an issue in her life, however much she felt she'd put her difficult childhood and teen years behind her. She'd pushed him away, become inclined to exclude him rather than seek his help and advice. For the first time, their partnership was uneasy, lacking the trust they'd always had before.

When the call had come he'd been surprised to see her – normally so decisive – unable even to speak to the Marshal in the other office.

In the midst of a slow Friday – everyone doing paperwork, getting caught up, drinking coffee – she'd gotten a call from Amarillo. She'd frozen, not responded to the voice on the phone, and Jimmy, looking at her narrowly, had taken the phone from her hand. Marshal Reigert in Amarillo the Amarillo office told him they had received a tip on a fugitive not seen for years, and there had been a note in the fugitive's file to notify Annie. He'd listened, thanked the caller, and hung up the phone. While the others watched, puzzled, he'd led her gently to the kitchen and told her what she already knew: Amarillo had a line on a man who might be her father.

Annie'd stayed quiet the rest of the afternoon, brooding, closed up. When they'd talked in the kitchen she'd said she was fine – Amarillo could track down the fugitive, whoever it was; it was the right thing – but although it was clear to him that she wasn't fine, she'd refused to talk any more about it, finally getting angry, gritting 'what the hell, Jimmy, it's none of your damn business' again, and stalking from the kitchen back to her desk. She'd ignored him after that, and the others looked at them sideways, wondering what was going on. When it came time to call it a day, she had passed on the invitation to go have a couple of beers with Jimmy and the rest of the team and instead headed home.

He was staying in the bunks again after another dust up with Natalie and got back about nine from the bar. Walking though the quiet, dim offices - only dispatch was working, and in another part of the building - on his way to the bunks, he stopped at his desk; there were files to read, always, and he might as well get through some. It was too early to sleep. While he sorted through the papers on his desk, the fax machine came to life, startling him, and pages curled into the tray.

Jimmy leafed through the papers. Amarillo had finished their work with the tip, and the fax contained details of the information received by the Marshals as to the whereabouts of the fugitive that could be Annie's father. A man who might be William Frost had been seen in that area, in the northern part of the state, by a tourist who thought he recognized him from his picture on the USMS most-wanted posters. There was a statement from the tourist: date, time, location, a current description and composite sketch. The sketch did certainly resemble the pictures Jimmy had seen of Frost, although the man illustrated had a beard and fairly long hair. Like Annie herself, William Frost was slight and slim, fair-haired and blue-eyed; so was the man in the composite. Maybe Annie, knowing him best, could tell for sure if the man pictured was Frost.

Half an hour later Jimmy was on Annie's doorstep, the sheaf of papers and William Frost's file in his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for your kind reviews so far. I did want to let you know that it is not my intention to be mean by witholding chapters when you know they're all written; never having written a story before I hoped that serializing the chapters would result in the story having more readers and more feedback overall. Even more important for a new writer: serializing gives me the opportunity to make revisions to later chapters if your feedback indicates I should. Perhaps you'll think I've totally mischaracterized Jimmy!_

_Maybe I shouldn't have told you the story was complete, but it is so disappointing to start reading a story only to find that it is never finished, and I thought you'd appreciate knowing that wouldn't be the case._

_That all said, since your feedback is "I want more, sooner", here is the next installment._

**Chapter 3: Friday Night**

Annie opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. At home, still in jeans and a blouse, but without vest, holsters, guns and badge she seemed smaller and more vulnerable. He looked at her closely; she looked tired and stressed, but at least she didn't look like she was still angry with him.

They spread the fax and the file out on the kitchen counter, read through the tip report and compared the composite to the old mug shots of William Frost. It was hard for Jimmy to tell if they were the same man, and even Annie seemed to be unsure. She looked at the pictures silently for a long time, and then gasped: "Wait jus' a sec." She went quickly to the bedroom and came back with a shoebox. Rifling through the box, she pulled out an old photo and laid it on the counter beside the composite. It was of Annie and her father, Annie maybe eleven or twelve years old, squinting into the sun, backpacks at their feet, a rock formation in the background. William Frost was bearded, his hair almost to his shoulders, instantly recognizable as the man in the composite. If Amarillo found him, it would be the right man.

Annie pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, visibly upset; she began nervously to file the papers away into their folders. Jimmy stilled her busy hands - "Boots, leave it for a few minutes" - and led her into the sitting room.

She dropped onto the sofa, rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, "Don't even know how I feel, Jimmy. He's been outta my life so long, an' I thought I'd never see or hear from him again. If he's really turned up, what am I to do with that?"

He sat down beside her and took back her hand, softly rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

"You already know what I think, Annie. I've told you before. He's a bad guy, like other bad guys, you know that better'n anybody. And if he's a bad guy like other bad guys, he should be arrested and put in prison. He's not a father in any way I understand, and he doesn't deserve to have you waste a thought on him."

Looking down at their clasped hands, avoiding eye contact; "I don't even know how fathers are supposed to be, Jimmy. To you he wasn't the father he should have been, but to me he's the only one I ever had."

"If they can find him, Annie, they need to bring him in. Nothing else is right, with what he's done. But once they have him you could decide to see him, if you wanted to. Much as I'd like to see you put him right out of your mind, maybe it would be best."

"I feel like I should go up there and help in Amarillo. Like I might know things that would help them find him, bring him in. Be able to get in his head better'n they can."

"You do, Annie, and it could all go wrong. What would he do if he saw you? How would you react if you saw him? Bad for bringing him in, and bad for you."

Still she didn't look away from their hands.

"You hear me, Annie?"

After a long moment she looked up into his face. "I hear you."

They sat quietly after that, close on the sofa, feeling after the tension of the day some of the old ease they'd lost over the past few weeks, unwilling to give it up. They chatted about work, both of them avoiding the cases that had stressed their partnership, until finally Jimmy, looking at his watch, rose reluctantly to go.

Standing by the door to see him out, Annie said, "Natalie will have been wondering where you've been."

"No. I've been in the bunks again. Brought my grandfather's gun with me this time."

"I wondered, but I hadn't seen Gordon. Didn't want to ask. She'll change her mind and take you back again, Jimmy."

"Even the guys don't know." He gave her a long look. "It wasn't her this time, Annie. I left. And I won't change my mind."

Her eyebrows and the quirk of her mouth showed he had surprised her, but she said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You've got enough on your plate without worryin' about me when there's nothin' to worry about. Goodnight, Annie."

She surprised him then, stepped closer, reached up, hand on his shoulder, and kissed him swiftly. Stepped back, before he had time to think or react. "Thank you for comin', Jimmy; thank you for talkin' me through this."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Saturday**

Jimmy sat in the office kitchen, long legs stretched out in front of him, coffee in hand. He'd had a restless night, and finally gotten up very early, pulled on his pants and shirt and padded out to the kitchen to put some coffee on. The more he thought about his visit with Annie, the more he didn't know what to think. After the problems they had been having, he'd been grateful to feel easy with her again; but wasn't the intimacy, her kiss, out of character? He'd been relieved to hear her agree again that it was best to let Amarillo follow up the tip and find William Frost; but hadn't she agreed more readily than he would have thought? Had she mislead him about her intentions? He toyed with his phone on the table. Picked it up and put it down. Finally he called Annie.

She was a Marshal, accustomed to answering the phone wherever and whenever it rang. He'd never known her not to answer her phone. But the call went to voicemail, and Jimmy's unease deepened. He tried again ten minutes later, but then dragged on his boots and headed for the car and Annie's apartment. If her phone was off it was intentional, and the intent had to be to prevent him contacting her.

Two hours later he was on his way to the airport. When her truck had been gone, he'd picked the lock and entered Annie's apartment, mentally apologizing for the intrusion when he searched the place: Fifty-nine, her guns and overnight bag were gone; so was the Frost file they'd left on the kitchen counter the night before. Because the vehicle she'd taken was her own truck, not one of the USMS SUVs, he hadn't been able to track it, but back in the office, he'd run her financials and cell phone. There were no hits on her credit card, but her debit card showed she'd taken cash from her bank in the middle of the night. Her cell phone was off, no location. Finally, angry and yet frightened for her, he'd bought a ticket on the next flight to Amarillo, showered, packed his own things, and set out to follow her on her search for her father.

Guns checked and himself through security, he waited at the gate, adding up the times in his head. If she'd left right after the stop at the bank she'd been gone within an hour of seeing him off the night before. She'd have made good time driving at night. Say seven hours to Abilene. It was another five hours driving from Abilene to Amarillo; she'd be there by noon if she didn't stop to rest. His flight would leave at 11:00, and with a stop in Dallas, he would get into Amarillo just before 2:00 in the afternoon. Maybe two hours behind Annie. He'd need to retrieve his guns from checked baggage and rent a truck. Maybe another hour or so to get out of the airport and into town to the USMS office on 5th Avenue. Three hours behind Annie. She'd need to sleep at some point, either in her truck somewhere along the road, or once she got to Amarillo. In spite of his later start, that might mean he would get to the Amarillo office before she did. But he knew if she rested at all she wouldn't rest long, no more than a couple of hours.

He'd called their contact in Amarillo as soon as he'd decided to fly up there, interrupting the Marshal - Reiger? Reigert? Reigert - at his daughter's Saturday morning swimming lesson. Jimmy had been surprised to learn that Reigert hadn't heard from Annie at all; he'd thought that even if she hadn't used her cell phone, she might have used a pay phone. He had filled Reigert in himself, and the other Marshal had been glad to have Jimmy confirm the identity of the man in the composite picture. He had told Jimmy their followup on the tip the previous day had yielded nothing; they had no further leads and thought it likely that Frost was only passing through, not staying in the area. He'd agreed to meet Jimmy at the office in the afternoon. Jimmy said he'd call again when he was on the ground in Amarillo, perhaps by then Annie would have been in touch. "No problem, truly," Reigert had said, "you'll be keeping me from a visit with my mother-in-law."

The flight was uneventful, although Jimmy was restless in the cramped seats of the commuter jet, earning himself a glare from the elderly woman in the window seat beside him. They arrived on schedule into Amarillo and he reclaimed his guns and rented a truck without any problems. After stowing the guns behind the seat, dropping his small duffel bag on the floor on the passenger side he sat in the truck and called Reigert back. Annie had still not been in touch.

In the office, Reigert showed Jimmy everything he had on the tip. Frost had been seen at a hardware store in Amarillo by an out-of-state postal worker on holiday with his family. He'd thought he remembered Frost from the USMS wanted posters on the bulletin boards at work. The man had not seen Frost get in a vehicle, and had seen no indication of where Frost might be heading. Nor had anyone else, although a cashier, at least, was able to confirm the sighting. She remembered serving Frost, but not what he bought; from the register history they'd concluded he'd bought a shovel, which didn't give them anything to go on. He'd paid cash.

Jimmy wandered the small office looking distractedly at the commendations and pictures on the walls while he told Reigert what he knew of the history of Annie and her father, how he'd used the young girl as a lookout in his robberies, and a decoy in his cons, dragging her with him across the southwest, never truly settled and sometimes actually homeless. As much as he wanted to protect Annie's privacy, it wouldn't have been fair to let Reigert look for Frost with Annie as a factor he knew nothing about. As he paced, he looked repeatedly out the windows into the hot, dry street as if expecting her truck to pull up out front. He'd had been sure that Annie, even if she hadn't wanted to talk to him, would have wanted to talk to Reigert. He'd convinced himself that she would be in touch with the Amarillo Marshal. _What did it mean that she hadn't? Where had she gone instead? What did she know that he didn't?_ His voice wound down, and he stood staring sightlessly at a faded print; some local landscape, canyon and rocks.

"Jesus, Godfrey," Reigert finally said, "are you all right? Why are you so concerned for her? The woman's a Marshal; she can handle herself, surely?"

Jimmy turned from the picture bleakly, "In any other situation, yes. In this situation? I don't think we can know what she'll do if she finds her father. I want to find her before that happens. I thought I'd find her here. But she's gone off the grid, and I've got to believe, now, that she doesn't want to _be_ found."


	5. Chapter 5

_I have determinedly tried to change Annie's father's name from Warren to William. He resisted a bit, so if you see any instances where he is still Warren, let me know and I will correct them._

_His story and relationship with young Annie are made up, of course, and may come to be inconsistent with the show writers worldview. If they are inconsistent with what we know now it's because I missed something (perhaps while I was missing the man's name). My apologies for anything not canonical._

_To those of you reading, setting up alerts and so on - my email and the traffic trends tell me you are there - thank you for your interest. I am having a great time watching the alerts and traffic graphs and seeing all the (surprisingly many) countries represented._

_To those of you commenting, thank you again for your kind words._

**Chapter 5: Sunday Night**

By Sunday night, Jimmy, with Reigert's help, had looked everywhere for Annie, hotels and mom and pop motels where she might have chosen to stay, the grubby bars and restaurants where she might have looked for William. Sometimes he showed her picture, taken from the system in the office; sometimes he showed the composite of William Frost. But nobody they talked to had seen anything of either of them, and by dinnertime there was nowhere left to look and nobody left to ask. Reigert headed home for dinner with his family and Jimmy set off in search of his own supper and a bottle of bourbon.

Back in his hotel room, propped up on the bed, glass and bottle on the nightstand, television on but muted, Jimmy logged onto the USMS network and ran Annie's credit and debit cards again. If she'd bought meals or stopped at a hotel, she'd paid with the cash; she'd left no electronic trace. Her cell phone was off still; there was no location data available. He set the machine aside and called Marco.

He'd known he had to call sometime before Marco and the others came into the office Monday morning and found that he and Annie were gone. For Annie's sake he wouldn't tell the truth; the secret of her father wasn't his to tell. But he had to tell Marco something to excuse their absence, and so he'd lied and said that Annie'd called him that morning, miserably sick with some kind of virus; that by afternoon he was sick himself. From the way he felt he was sure neither of them would be in Monday morning. If Marco doubted the story he didn't say so, and Jimmy ended the call saying they'd be back in the office as soon as they could.

Glass in hand, he mulled over everything Annie had said and done since receiving the call from Amarillo on Friday. He'd sifted through it dozens of times, but new insight refused to come. He wished he had copies of the fax and the Frost file with him, tangible things to turn over in his hands while his mind turned over his memories, but he'd left them in Reigert's office. Even the pictures would help.

The pictures. There were the mug shots from the original Frost file, and the composite from the fax. And there was the picture from Annie's shoebox. She'd gasped when she'd thought of it, a sharp intake of breath. It was her picture, taken when she was young. He hadn't asked much about it, believed she'd thought of it because of the beard and long hair her father had worn at the time. But she'd been upset when she'd looked at the picture. Could that be about more than just the confirmation of identity? It was about twenty years old, judging by Annie's age in the photo. Some third person must have taken it but it might just have been a passerby asked to take a photo of father and daughter. It was a picture like anyone on holiday might take, but it must have been rare for Annie to have anything like a holiday with her father; he wasn't the type to take a kid on a holiday, and besides, there probably wouldn't have been money for holidays. Where had they been?

His head came up and his eyes widened as he put together all he'd seen and heard. Amarillo. The rock formation in the background of Annie's picture. The faded print in Reigert's office, desert and rocks. The same rocks. Jimmy pulled his computer into his lap. Googled 'Amarillo rock formation' and in two clicks knew where Annie's photo was taken, and where she had gone.


	6. Chapter 6

_Edited to get rid of Warren again. He is stubborn._

**Chapter 6: Monday Morning**

He had set the laptop aside, drained his glass and slept, for a while, but was up before dawn and gone down the road south of the city to Palo Duro Canyon State Park.

The sun was still not up as he crossed the park boundary; at the shuttered office he'd banged on the door twice before a Ranger appeared, groggy and annoyed. Jimmy had shown his badge to get the Ranger to check the computer for Annie's camping registration, and armed with the park map on the passenger seat and the campsite number on a post-it note had driven into the park to the campground.

When he came finally to the campsite at daybreak, he breathed deeply in relief at the sight of Annie's truck; he'd been holding his breath, he realized, with the strain of worry that she would not be there. He pulled in behind her truck, blocking her in. His arrival had wakened her, apparently, and by the time he'd gotten out of his truck and walked around the vehicles she was scrambling out of the small tent and coming towards him, zipping her fleece jacket against the early morning chill.

In three long strides he closed the distance between them. Too relieved for his normal restraint with her, he gathered her against his chest and hugged her fiercely. Too angry to stay quiet, he held her by the shoulders, and said sharply, "Never do that again, Annie. Never leave me. Never frighten me like that."

She looked for a second like she might make excuses, defend her actions to him. He stopped her with a warning look. "Annie, don't pretend you don't know why I'm angry. I know you meant for me not to know you were gone, not to find you. How could you think I wouldn't look until I found you safe? 'Course I did. And I found you by following the clues for William Frost; I know that's why you're here."

She dropped her eyes, for once did not argue with him. The anger drained away, leaving only his relief in seeing her unharmed. He raised his hand to her face, pushed her hair away from her eyes. "If you have to do this, Annie, let me help you."

She made coffee with her tiny camp stove and they sat at the picnic table while she explained. She'd remembered as soon as she'd seen the old picture again Friday night where they'd been. The summer she'd been twelve, she and her father had camped in the park for several weeks, lying low after some trouble in New Mexico. Their only home at the time was a beat up trailer; the park was as good a place as any for a man staying away from his usual haunts. It had been an island of normalcy in a turbulent young life, and she'd enjoyed camping. They'd walked the hiking trails and ventured into the backcountry, camped for a couple of nights beyond the Lighthouse; the picture had been taken by another hiker on the trail to the Lighthouse Rock. It was the only time she could remember she and her father being in the Amarillo area; and she'd fixed on the idea that he was revisiting the place for some reason, had returned to a place that was perhaps one of his few good memories as well.

"I decided to look for him here", she said, "Nobody but me could possibly know to look here. I decided not to involve the Marshals. I think that if he was coming to this place it must indicate some change of heart, some regret. He's not a young man anymore; he's an older man, revisiting a place he was happy. I thought maybe I could talk to him, and put some things right between us." She looked up at him, twisting her empty coffee cup in her hands. "I know I was wrong not to tell you."

"I started packing as soon as you left; was gone before 1:00 in the morning. By 10:00 I was in Lubbock; found an open kennel and left Fifty-nine, stopped and got a few groceries. I was here just after noon. Slept a bit and started looking for him. This late in the season the park isn't that busy, so I was able to check the registrations pretty closely. There's nobody registered here that I can identify; he hasn't used his own name or any alias I know. Saturday afternoon and evening I went through all the campgrounds; I spent yesterday hiking through the backpacking camp area. He's in none of those areas that I can see. But I think I know where to look. I want to go into the back canyon beyond the Lighthouse, to the place we camped out. My plan was to ride in today."

He took her hand across the table. "Nothing I could say would change your mind?"

She shook her head.

"Then I'll come with you. And nothing you could say will change my mind."

They had a quick bite to eat, and packed a day's worth of supplies in their bags; water, some food, the maps, Annie's GPS and the first-aid kit from her truck. They left behind their phones; there was no signal anyway. At Jimmy's insistence they wore vests under their shirts. They carried their guns, concealed by their clothes. They drove to the trailhead in his truck, and Jimmy talked to the stable hands, looked over and helped saddle the horses, stowed their small bags in the larger saddlebags. By eight in the morning they were well down the trail that wound into the canyon towards the Lighthouse Rock, Jimmy smiling a little to think of Marshals on horseback again 150 years after the USMS began enforcing the law in the West.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Monday Morning, Houston**

Daisy and Luke were already at the office, drinking coffee at their desks, when Marco arrived and explained that Annie and Jimmy wouldn't be in because of illness.

"What are you talking about?" said Luke slowly, "That doesn't make sense. Jimmy was staying here wasn't he? He hadn't said anything, and I bet he thought I didn't know, but I was pretty sure Natalie'd kicked him out again." He turned and headed for the bunks, was back again in only a minute. "Some of his clothes and things are here, and I'm sure he slept here, but his badge and gun, and his duffel bag, are gone. Why would he lie?"

Marco smirked. "Maybe they finally stopped being so friggin' repressed, and they're together someplace. Should've happened years ago."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "It's complicated, no doubt. But I don't believe Annie would let that happen. Besides, even if you were right, they'd be back here this morning, pretending like nothin' had happened." - Luke looked at her obliquely - "I'm calling Annie", Daisy finished, and pulled out her phone.

Annie's phone went to voicemail, and when Marco, now doubting Jimmy's story, tried his number it went to voicemail too. Convinced something was wrong, the three junior Marshals did for Jimmy and Annie what they did every day for fugitives. With the cell phones off there was no location trace available. Luke pulled up the call histories: the last two calls Annie had received were from the Amarillo USMS office in the afternoon - the call they'd seen Jimmy take - and, later in the evening, from Jimmy himself. On Jimmy's phone were a number of calls to Reigert in Amarillo, and the call to Marco. Marco called Reigert.

In spite of having withheld information from the Houston team, Jimmy had made no effort to keep secrets from Reigert, and so within an hour they had pieced together most of the story, knew Annie'd gone to find her father and Jimmy had gone to find Annie. The conversation with Reigert had been helpful, but disturbing. He'd confided to Marco Jimmy's fears about Annie being outside the law, and his own concerns about Jimmy's state of mind. Reigert was surprised to hear that Jimmy's cell phone was off and that his team could not get in touch with him; he offered to swing by Jimmy's hotel to check on him.

While they waited for Reigert to call back, they sat in the meeting room while Marco related what Reigert had told him about William Frost, Annie and Jimmy. He ended by saying "Even if Reigert finds Jimmy, Annie will still be missing. And if Jimmy can't find her, how can we?"

Normally, at an impasse in a search, Jimmy and Annie talked through what they knew, getting into the fugitive's head, sometimes role-playing. They were used to Jimmy and Annie leading that process, and fell quiet. Finally Luke spoke up.

"Okay. I can't see what Annie's thinking, but I can see… I'm Jimmy. I believe Annie's gone to Amarillo to look for her father. Her cell phone is off. She's left no trail; I know she doesn't want me to find her. No way will I let her head into something dangerous without me. I go to Amarillo without knowing for sure that that's where she's gone. I look everywhere for her, for two days, and don't get a lead. If she's been looking for her father she hasn't been doing it in Amarillo; she hasn't been to a hotel there, hasn't been to the place where her father was seen, hasn't been to a restaurant or bar where she might reasonably have asked about him. I've got to conclude she didn't come to Amarillo."

Daisy joined in. "But where did she go instead? She must have information you don't have, know something you don't know, maybe something from the past."

Marco jumped into the conversation. "Jimmy knows her better than anyone, and had talked to her the night she left Houston. I doubt we can guess anything he wouldn't have. But he's dropped out of touch; could he be on the plane back here? His phone would be off. Would he decide to come back to Houston?"

Luke , looking inward: "No. I'm completely focussed on Annie now. If I move, it's because I believe I'm moving towards her." He looked up at Marco and Daisy. "We don't have to find Annie. No matter what, Jimmy will find Annie. We only have to find Jimmy."

Marco's phone rang. It was Reigert. He said that Jimmy had checked out of the hotel very early in the morning, and was gone. Marco relayed Reigert's news to the team and added, "Jimmy must think he knows where she's gone."

Daisy hesitated. "Ask Reigert what he's driving. If it's one of their vehicles, they can track it." Marco turned back to the phone, asked Reigert the question, listened and shook his head at Luke and Daisy. "Rental."

"Damn," said Daisy, "we should have run his credit card to start with, we'd have been following that angle already." Luke and Daisy turned to the computer while Marco thanked Reigert and put his phone away. Within minutes they knew that Jimmy had rented a truck at the Amarillo airport. "Got low-jack on it?" Luke asked Daisy. With a phone call they confirmed that Jimmy's rental was parked at the trailhead of the Lighthouse Trail, and that a man matching his description and a slim blonde had ridden down the trail before 8:00 that morning.

With what they knew, Marco was left with no choice but to go to Annie's boss with their findings. If they were to continue their search in the Palo Duro Canyon it was going to take serious resources - people, choppers - and he needed permission to continue. He was back in a half hour with the senior man's orders: "Find them, and bring them back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Monday, Palo Duro Canyon**

The trail was well-travelled, and even at low season and that early hour Jimmy and Annie overtook hikers on the trail. The first part of the trail was fairly broad and flat, and the horses covered the distance to the steeper sections near the Lighthouse in good time. They picked their way up the slopes around the Lighthouse and were finally past it and off the mapped trail by late morning.

Annie was leading now, looking for anything she might remember from her visit with her father twenty years before. She had remembered clearly hiking into the rock formation with their gear, and continuing past the landmark into the back canyon, a jumble of hoodoos and ravines. Within the next mile they came to a creek, nearly dry, only a trickle of water running in it and she signalled to Jimmy to stop. They dismounted and led the horses to a small pool for a drink.

"I remember the creek, but there was more water when we were here. If I'm right, I know which way to go from here. The place we camped must be less than a mile away, that way," she said, pointing ahead of them.

There was not really a trail, but a vague impression of one; Jimmy could see that others had passed this way before. He looked closely at the dry sandy soil and could make out faint footprints, but could not tell how recently someone might have walked this route.

While the horses were resting, they drank from their own water bottles and each had an energy bar, careful to make sure the litter was returned to their bags to be carried out with them again. When they finished, they mounted the horses and moved forward in the direction Annie had indicated.

Perhaps half a mile further on the faint trail they passed through a tight chute between a cliff rising on their right and a massive pillar of rock on their left. They entered the chute together, but when they could see where it would widen out again, Annie called softly to Jimmy to stop. "We're comin' up the the place I remember." He nodded. "I don't think we want to surprise anyone," she continued, "Stop here and let's walk forward an' take a look."

They slid from their horses and dropped the reins over a scrubby tree, pulled their bags over their shoulders and walked forward through the chute, hugging the pillar wall on the left hand side. At the end of the chute, beyond the pillar, the left hand side fell sharply away into a narrow box canyon that angled back away from them. The trail ahead sloped down sharply, turned and widened out again, forming an open area along the far rim of the small ravine. What Annie saw rocked her.

There was indeed a small campsite set up in the open area: a tiny tent near some tall boulders, a portable chair. It was just as it had been twenty years before. Beyond the campsite, against the rock wall of the curving cliff on her right hand side, a man with a shovel was digging. The memories flooded back and Annie remembered their trip: the job in New Mexico and their trip into Texas, camping in the park, the walk in past the lighthouse. The bag her father had carried in, but not carried out. He wasn't revisiting his past, regretful and ready to make amends, he was back to reclaim something buried twenty years before. All the hurt and anger of a neglected youth flooded back and overwhelmed her.

Impulsively, unthinkingly, she ran forward down the steep slope along the upper edge of the ravine, pulling her gun, yelling.

As always, Jimmy followed her, running as fast as he could, dragging his own gun from its holster.

William Frost heard them, turned from his digging, dropped the shovel and reached for his own gun, stepping into the shelter of the cliff and firing towards the running Marshals. They returned his fire, running now for the minimal cover of the boulders near the tent.

Adrenaline focuses the eyes forward, cuts off peripheral vision in favour of concentrating on the threat ahead, and in the rush of fight-or-flight as she scrambled for the cover of the boulders Annie did not see Jimmy get hit and stumble. But as she reached the boulders and turned to look for him, she saw him take the second hit, stagger backwards and tumble over the lip of the ravine. "Jimmy, no, no, no…", she gasped, and sparing only a glance in the direction of Frost, she ran back to where Jimmy had gone over, and levered herself over the edge.

There was a short drop and then a long, very steep scree slope, and she was able to slide down the slope on her backside and heels, to the piles of larger rocks and boulders that had been released from the eroding slope above. She found Jimmy near where she stopped her downward slide, groaning against the side of a refrigerator-sized slab of rock. She looked briefly back up the slope; their position was such that if William were to look over the edge he would have a clear shot. Even knowing he shouldn't be moved, Annie holstered her gun and grabbing Jimmy under the arms, dragged him around to the downhill side of the rock.

Quickly she assessed his condition. He was barely conscious and not really aware of her, although she spoke to him constantly, using his name, telling him to keep his eyes open, to hang on, he was going to be all right. She found he had a bleeding gash on his head behind his ear and numerous scrapes and cuts, most likely from the fall. A gunshot wound to the right leg below the knee appeared like it might have broken the shinbone. He was turning pale and sweaty, his breathing was fast and shallow and his heart rate was rapid.

His own bag had been lost in the fall, but hers, with the first aid kit, was still with her and she quickly emptied it out. In a few minutes she had bandaged his head and leg to stop the bleeding, using everything in the little kit; cut off his shirt and removed his vest to see if that would help his breathing; and added long strips of the shirt to his bandages to maintain better pressure on the wounds. The vest, when she saw it, made her hands tremble; if it weren't for the vest, he'd have caught a bullet in the chest.

There was nothing she could do about the leg once the bleeding was controlled, and no way to know how serious the head wound was, although she was sure his not waking up was a bad sign. By the time she had done all she could, she was shaking violently, horrified by the trouble she'd brought down on this man. _He'd warned her, and she hadn't listened._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Monday Afternoon, Palo Duro Canyon**

Annie pressed her palms to her temples, squeezed her eyes shut, willed the swirling fear and self-recrimination to stop. _Focus, focus. Don't think about how we got here; think about how we're going to get out. Do what your training and experience tells you to do. Be the professional you know how to be. _Gradually the nausea ebbed, her mind calmed, and the facts of their situation settled into place. The small ravine had steep walls on three sides, but was open to the main canyon: exposed to an attack from above or through the open canyon mouth. She had her gun and ammunition; Jimmy's gun and ammo were gone. She had – she lifted the bottles and shook them – about a quart and a half of water, three energy bars.

She was fine, unhurt except for some scrapes, but Jimmy, Jimmy... The fear and guilt rose again as she looked at him , his head propped on her bag, unconscious beside her. She watched his chest rise and fall, still too fast, still too shallow. What if he didn't wake up? She'd said, pleading with him as he had with her after the bomb, "Keep your eyes open, Jimmy. You know what happens if you don't." But he'd slipped into unconsciousness and had been that way ever since.

Most perplexing was the whereabouts of William Frost. In the moment after she had seen Jimmy fall backwards into the canyon, she'd glanced back towards the cliff, and she was sure she hadn't seen him. She hadn't looked again before going over the edge to find Jimmy, but the shooting had stopped, and Frost had not pursued her. Had Frost been hit? She wasn't sure either she or Jimmy had had a clear enough shot to stop him. Had he run? He might have done, especially once he realized the people who had surprised him were unable to follow. Perhaps he thought they were already dead. Was he stalking them? Watching from above to see where they'd gone in the small ravine, or working his way around to the mouth of the little canyon to approach them from that direction?

She could leave Jimmy where he lay and go for help, hoping neither Frost nor Jimmy's injuries would kill him before she got back; or she could stay with him, guard against Frost and monitor his condition, while they waited for help that might never come. The second option was, of course, not really an option at all: Jimmy might die if she went for help, but he would surely die if she didn't. Her mind was made up.

Annie scrounged through the things that had been in her bag and found a pen. Writing on the back of the wrapper from one of the gauze pads she'd used for his bandages, she scrawled a quick note in case Jimmy woke while she was gone: "14:20. Gone for help. Back ASAP, Annie." She placed the note by his hand and weighted it down with one of the water bottles and a couple of energy bars, before turning to the slope above them to climb out of the ravine.

While it had been easy to slide down the scree slope, it proved impossible to climb back up; each rock she touched skittered out from under her and slid back down the slope. Rather than go up, she was forced to work her way across the slope at the level of the big rock slabs and boulders. She slipped from one to the next, maintaining as much cover as she could from the threat of Frost above, although there was no sign of him.

They had entered the box canyon at the end, more or less immediately behind Frost's tent, and her traverse of the end wall carried her beyond that point to the corner where the side wall of the canyon met the end. In that corner, a narrow gully, free of the scree that had hampered her climb, rose to the top of the ravine. If she climbed it, she would, she thought, come out behind Frost's camp and the area where he had been digging and have an advantage over him if he were, in fact, still there. It was very steep, and there were a couple of dicey moments, but she came to the rim of the ravine without incident and was able to peer warily over the edge towards Frost's camp.

As she had hoped, she had come around behind him, and he had his back to her maybe twenty yards away. She had been below the rim of the box canyon for perhaps an hour, and in that time it appeared he had found the horses, finished his digging and packed up his prize; he was packing his things into the saddlebags of the horse that had been Annie's, both hands busy. He was getting ready to run, but whatever it was, he had been unwilling to leave behind the secret he'd buried, camping with his young daughter, twenty years before.

Annie seized the only chance she was likely to get, easing over the rim of the canyon she unholstered her gun. Gun held steady in front of her she stepped forward and yelled, "William Frost! This is Annie Frost, US Marshal. Put your hands on top of your head an' turn around."

Frost froze, but did not raise his hands, did not turn. His daughter took another step towards him, yelled again. He finally turned, and as she saw the gun in his hands come up, all her ingrained instinct and training coming to the fore, Annie Frost shot her father.

Annie ran forward and kicked the gun away from the fallen man's hand, then stooped to check for the pulse at his throat. There was none. She had killed her father.

She stood over his body, anger and regret playing alternately on her face. He had not really been an old man - only fifty-five - but he looked older, aged by a life lived too hard and too fast, marked by both poverty and excess. She had shared parts of that life and put them aside. He had not, clearly he had not. If there had been any remnants of affection for his daughter, they had not been enough to overcome the selfishness and violence of the man. She shook her thoughts away. Swallowed hard and wiped at her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Holstered her gun. There would be time for making sense of her father's death after she had gone for help for Jimmy.

The horses had startled at the sound of the gunshot, reared and darted away, but hemmed in by the cliff on one side and the ravine on the other they had not gone far. After collecting both animals, Annie went through the saddlebags, discarding Frost's clothes, ammo and anything else that would weigh down the horses, keeping the water and what food there was; it would take her several hours to return to the trailhead.

In the bottom of one of the bags was the small leather satchel William had carried with him twenty years previously, dusty and scratched. Inside, rolled in a towel, a tangle of jewellery, rings, necklaces and brooches jumbled together. Annie closed her eyes and sighed; her father had come back for these things, had shot Jimmy, had been prepared to shoot his own daughter to protect these things. Just things. She packed the jewellery away again and tucked the satchel back in the saddlebag.

Annie had covered Frost's body with his sleeping bag, tied the second horse to her own and swung into the saddle to ride back to the trailhead when she heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter and a USMS chopper flew over the cliff at her back and circled above her, Reigert and Marco, Daisy and Luke scanning the ground from the open sides.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 11: Epilogue**

It was forty-eight hours before Jimmy Godfrey woke in the hospital to find Annie beside his bed, holding his hand, and Daisy watching over her from the doorway.

"Hey, Cowboy," she whispered, "welcome back. You had us a little scared."

"Hey, Boots," he rasped, "What happened?" He coughed. "My chest is sore."

Daisy slipped from the doorway and gently closed the door.

Annie nodded, and reached to pour him a cup of water as he eased, wincing, to sit up against the pillows. "Mmm," she said, "your chest hurts 'cause you got shot; the vest caught it but you're bruised. Head probably hurts, too, you banged it pretty good falling into a ravine. You've been asleep a couple of days. And if your leg doesn't hurt now, it's gonna. You got shot in the lower leg and it broke your tibia, they operated on it when you were brought here. You'll have crutches for a while, and need some physiotherapy. But yeah, we got 'im."

Gradually, with stops so the medical staff could check their patient, Annie told him the whole story starting with his shooting and fall, and ending with the appearance of the rest of the team. She spoke only briefly about shooting her father, and Jimmy looked at her carefully, trying to discern the extent of her grief; it was impossible to tell how well she would deal with her father's death and her role in it. Clearer was her guilt about what had happened, as she finished by saying, "I nearly got you killed. I mislead you, and then I took off after my father without thinking about the consequences. You followed me straight into trouble I should have seen coming. I did exactly what you were worried about, and look what happened." She shook her head and looked down at her hands plucking at the bedspread. "I am so, so sorry, Jimmy."

He covered her hands with one of his own and said only, "Shh. Annie, it's okay. None of that matters now," before drifting to sleep.

It was only after a further five days, a deposition with Internal Affairs, an awkward conversation with Marco and another with Natalie, and countless visits from family, friends, doctors, nurses and the USMS critical incident team, that he was able to leave the hospital. Annie came for him. He raised his eyebrows and smiled a little when she said that the bunks were no place to recuperate and that she was taking him home with her, but he did not protest. That evening, sitting on her couch with his leg up on a pillow and his crutches beside him, Annie beside him, he repeated softly what he had said in anger at her campsite in Palo Duro Canyon Park: "Never do that again, Annie. Never leave me. Never frighten me like that."

_Thank you all so much for your alerting, favouriting, and commenting. I have had a wonderful time checking my email and the traffic stats while this story was being published, and I very much appreciate your generosity and support._


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